The Transiency of Love
by Koinaka
Summary: Kurt was trying to get through the summer. Sam was trying to forget. Neither of them expected to fall in love.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Set post season 3 for Glee (assuming Kurt graduates in Season 3) and begins between season 3 and season 4 in Supernatural. Will contain spoilers for pretty much all of Supernatural but will be AU as Sam never goes to Ruby after Dean goes to hell.

Pairings: Sam/Kurt, mentions of other canon pairings.

Don't own any of it.

The Transiency of Love

By Koinaka

_Please let me forget  
all those sweet smiles  
all of the passion  
all of the heat, the peace, the pain  
all those blue skies  
where your words were my freedom  
_-Don't, Jewel

Chapter One: How it Begins

By the end of his first week back in Lima, Kurt was sure that the summer between his freshman and sophomore year in college was going to be the longest summer of his life. After the whirlwind that was New York City, the slow pace of Lima was enough to frustrate him to tears most days. If given a choice, he wouldn't have come home at all, but unfortunately, he didn't have the funds to spend the summer in the city—even with Rachel's fathers paying the majority of their rent—thanks to the insane amount of money he had spent on clothing over the past year. Instead he was stuck working at his dad's shop and spending far more time than he would like with Finn and Puck.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a miserable summer.

The first time he thought that the summer might not be all that bad was on a Friday. Unlike most people, Kurt _hated _Fridays. Friday was one of his dad's days off which meant that he wasn't there to act as a distraction for Finn. It also meant that Kurt had to close up the shop by himself.

It started off like the previous two Fridays that he'd spent at work. He was counting down the minutes until closing time—exactly twelve—and flipping through the newest issue of _Vogue_. It had been ridiculously slow all day—even slower than usual—which meant that the majority of his time had been spent entertaining Finn, who was also working there part-time, and texting catty comments to Rachel about the people that came into the shop. After a year spent in extremely close proximity—their apartment was roughly the size of his dad's entire _living room_—the two had shifted from frenemies to best friends with only minimal bloodshed.

When he heard the door open, he didn't even bother to look up assuming that it was just Finn—yet _again_. Since it was so close to the end of the day, everyone else had already gone home except for him and Finn. He had tried to send Finn home earlier, but he just kept coming back—the first time because he'd accidentally locked himself out of the house and the second time he'd shown up with Puck in tow mumbling something about checking the oil in Puck's truck.

"I swear to God, Finn, I don't care if you change the entire football team's oil, as long as you are finished in the next twelve minutes," he said as he started a game of Angry Birds. Eleven minutes and counting.

There was a long pause, and then a voice that was definitely not Finn said, "Um…"

Surprised and more than a little embarrassed, he dropped his phone on the counter and looked up to greet the customer. "Sorry," he said. "I thought you were someone else. How can I help you?"

The first thing he noticed about the customer in front of him was that he was ridiculously tall, as in taller than Finn tall. The second thing he noticed was that he was incredibly, incredibly, _incredibly _attractive with shaggy brown hair and green eyes.

"I know you are about to close up, but I was hoping you could take a look at my car."

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He wasn't exactly dressed to work on a car, but the guy looked so hopeful that he just couldn't say no. Cursing his weakness for tall boys with puppy dog eyes, he nodded. "Sure. I'll just go let the door up and you can pull it in."

The guy's face lit up. "Thanks… I—just thanks. I'm Sam, by the way."

"Kurt, and it's no problem, really. You're saving me from having to spend time with my step-brother and his friends, so I should be the one thanking you."

The car in question, a 1967 Chevy Impala, was a beauty. Kurt made an appreciative noise as he took in the pristine condition the car was in. His dad had talked about restoring an old Impala last summer, before he went away to school, but there hadn't been time. Not that it made a difference, anyway, because having a car in the city was _way _more hassle than it was worth. But seeing this car made him wish that they had because while Kurt loved his Navigator, they really didn't make cars like this anymore.

"I'm not really sure what's wrong with it," Sam confessed as Kurt popped the hood. "It might be nothing, but the check engine light came on, so I thought I should get it checked out before I left town. I'm on a road trip," he added hastily at Kurt's inquiring look.

Ten minutes and one diagnostic test later, Sam's car was ready to go—after Kurt had added more transmission fluid _and _oil. During that time, Kurt discovered that Sam really knew shockingly little about cars.

"I can show you how to check these things for yourself. It's always more cost efficient, with an older car, if you can do some of the work yourself, you know, especially if you're going to be on the road."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. What had possessed him to offer to help a practical stranger—even if the stranger in question was extremely attractive?

"Sorry," he said when Sam didn't respond after a minute. "I'm sure you have much better things to do than to hang around here letting me play with your car."

Sam paused, a strange look flitting across his face, before he shook his head, cutting off Kurt's protests. "No, no, it's okay. It's just… my brother used to say the same thing. About the car," he clarified. "He tried to teach me some stuff before he died, but…. I can't really remember any of it." He took a deep breath. "So, yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

Sam turned out to be a very quick learner so it hadn't taken too long to show him a few things that would be helpful on the road. They spent the next two hours on the tiny couch in his dad's office talking. Only Kurt seemed to be the one doing most of the talking. Not for lack of trying on his part, but whenever he tried to get Sam to talk about himself, he was always able to direct the conversation elsewhere. He thought it was a bit strange, but assumed it was just because Sam was shy, so instead of talking Sam mostly just listened while Kurt talked about his first year in New York and his family.

They probably would have stayed like that for hours if the alarm company hadn't called to see why they hadn't set the alarm yet. They continued talking as Kurt hurried through his closing duties, and when they were finished, they talked for a few more minutes outside. They both seemed more than a little reluctant to say goodbye—Sam in particular—but eventually Kurt's stomach began to protest rather loudly.

"I should go," he said finally, even though everything in him wanted to stay because he knew that there was a very large chance he would never see Sam again once he did. One of the very few things he had managed to learn about Sam was that he was on a weird sort of road trip with no destination or end in sight. He seemed to just drift from one place to the next.

He knew that it was ridiculous—and completely insane—because they didn't know each other, not really, but the idea of never seeing Sam again made his entire chest ache.

Instead of climbing into his car, though, Sam took a step towards Kurt. He reached out as if to touch him but then stopped, his arm dropping to his side. They stared at each other for several long seconds.

If Kurt hadn't known that there was no such thing as love at first sight—he used to think there was but that was before the train wreck that was his relationship with Blaine—he would have thought that was what he was feeling at that moment—kind of nauseous and scared but somehow still excited like he was waiting for the drop at the top of a huge roller coaster—was love.

"Dinner," Sam blurted out. He sighed and ran his hands through his already messy hair. "I mean, can I buy you dinner?"

Kurt studied Sam for a moment. He wasn't the best at deciphering signals—he had a trail of almost-but-not-quite relationships to prove that—but there was something about the way Sam was looking at him, about how he had been looking at him ever since he walked into the shop that made Kurt think that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't imagining an attraction where there wasn't one.

But he had to be sure because he knew that he couldn't handle another Blaine situation.

"Are you asking me out?" He tried to go for coy, but his voice wavered ever so slightly and ruined the effect.

There was a pause where Kurt thought that maybe he had misread the entire situation again, but then Sam let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

Sam sounded exactly like he felt: completely terrified and excited all at once.

"Then I accept."


	2. Chapter 2

This is a little shorter than I would have liked, but it felt right to end it there. I feel like I ought to warn you that after this chapter, there is going to be some angst as the summer ends and Dean comes back from hell. Also, the chapters will probably be longer in length as the story because my original idea for this wasn't when they were together, but when they were apart. I just had to set everything up. Anyway, thanks for reading!

The Transiency of Love

By _Koinaka _

Please let me forget  
all those sweet smiles  
all of the passion  
all of the heat, the peace, the pain  
all those blue skies  
where your words were my freedom_  
Don't-Jewel_

Chapter Two  
How They Came Together

One date became two and then three. Before Kurt even knew what was happening, he and Sam were spending nearly every waking moment together. Not that Kurt had any complaints because he certainly didn't, but there were some things that bothered him. Like how even after all of the time they spent together, Sam never talked about his family—beyond saying that they were all dead—and he never _ever _talked about his life before he came to Lima. Kurt respected his right to privacy to a certain extent, but he would be lying if he wasn't bothered by the secrecy. But every time he brought it up, though, Sam would pull him close and kiss him, or run his fingers through Kurt's hair in a way that Kurt always pretended to hate but secretly loved. The end result was always the same: Kurt would let it go.

Another thing they didn't talk about was Sam leaving.

After the first date, Kurt hadn't expected to see him again, but then the next morning, Kurt had opened his front door to find Sam standing there, nervously shuffling from one foot to another, his eyes taking in everything—the perfectly maintained yard, the garden, the sign on the front door proclaiming the house to be the residence of the Hummel-Hudson's.

"I don't know why I'm here," he confessed. "I _shouldn't_ be here. I should be halfway across Indiana now." He ran his hands through his shaggy hair. "Only the entire time I was driving all I could think about was how I didn't get to do this."

Before Kurt had time to respond, though, Sam was pushing him against the front door and pressing his lips against his. There was something about the way he kissed Kurt. It was desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of Kurt, as if he thought that Kurt would disappear in front of him. They parted briefly—only long enough for them to tumble into the house and for Kurt to lead him upstairs into his room.

As they stood there across from each other, a million things were going through Kurt's head. The most prominent being what was he thinking inviting a boy—no a man, because Sam was several years older than him—he hardly knew into his house, into his room. His parents were gone, yes, but Finn was asleep down the hall,

And then Sam kissed him again, and anything that did not involve Sam's mouth on his mouth or his hands all over his body didn't matter.

Afterward, when they were entwined so closely together that you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began, Kurt's only regret was that he knew Sam _would _eventually leave, and he didn't know if he would be able to bear it when he did.

But Sam never did leave. He stayed, and it didn't take long for him to become integrated into the Hummel-Hudson clan. He got a job at the garage when it turned out he was much more proficient at car maintenance than Finn who Burt had hired for the summer, and he had a standing invitation to dinner which he took advantage of often.

As the summer progressed, they settled into a comfortable routine. They spent mornings in bed together before heading to the shop. After work, they would go to Kurt's house where they would play video games with Finn, or sometimes watch a movie. Then they would either stay for dinner, or they would go out. Sam had an awful affinity for greasy diner food which Kurt allowed him to indulge with only the occasional remark about how unhealthy it was. Sam took it in stride though, and would always pretend he didn't notice when Kurt stole a fry every now and then.

They spent most nights together in the tiny apartment that Sam had rented. To call it a hovel would have been a compliment. The only furniture it had was a bed and a rickety dining room set that they had rescued from the dumpster behind the shop, but it was a place for Sam to call home, and Kurt loved it—if only for the permanence it represented. When Sam had moved into it, Kurt had spent the better part of a weekend cleaning it from top to bottom, but in the end, it was still little better than the rundown motel he had been staying in before.

Little by little, Kurt's stuff migrated from his dad's house until he was all but living with Sam. This had caused some problems with his dad, who on top of having difficulty dealing with the fact that Kurt was an adult now thought that things between Kurt and Sam were moving a little too quickly for his comfort. It also led to his and Sam's first fight.

"I can't believe how ridiculous you're being. You have no idea how good you have it," Sam said. Kurt had been ranting for several minutes about rules and _inappropriateness_ and how unfair it all was.

"Excuse me?"

"You have a father who loves you—a family who loves you. I would give anything—_anything_—to have what you have." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Maybe your dad is right. Maybe we _are _moving a little too fast."

"Are you breaking up with me?" Kurt's voice was calm and even, though he felt far from either because the very thought of Sam breaking up with him made him ache.

Sam was quiet for a long time. "I don't know, Kurt. It just doesn't make sense—us being together. We hardly even know each other. I mean, you know nothing about what my life has been like, the things I've gone through."

Kurt recoiled as if slapped at Sam's words. "Only because you won't tell me! How many times have I tried to get to know you? If I don't know anything about you or the things I've gone through it's because you don't want me to know!

You know what I think, Sam Winchester? I think you're a coward. You don't want to be with me? Fine. But don't hide behind my father's apprehensions about our relationship. Don't say that I don't know what your life has been like when the only reason I don't know is because _you _are terrified to let me in."

His chest was heaving when he finished, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

"Maybe you're right," Sam said quietly. "Maybe I am a coward, but I do want to be with you, and yeah it scares me. It scares the hell out of me."

He reached out and pulled a stiff Kurt into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. They stayed like that for a long time, neither one speaking, until finally Kurt felt Sam let out a shuddering breath against the side of his neck. "I want to be with you, but there are just things that I _can't _tell you."

Kurt moved around until he was straddling Sam. He studied him for several long minutes before finally nodding.


	3. Chapter 3

Definitely didn't expect to update so soon! Hopefully everyone enjoys this. There is some implied smut, but I feel so unskillful writing anything of the sort, so I hope that it isn't too awful!

The Transiency of Love

By _Koinaka _

Please let me forget  
all those sweet smiles  
all of the passion  
all of the heat, the peace, the pain  
all those blue skies  
where your words were my freedom_  
Don't-Jewel_

Chapter Three  
When the Past Catches Up

Everything unraveled on the 4th of July.

The tentative agreement of "Don't Ask Don't Tell'' that they had adopted in the wake of their first fight was beginning to wear thin largely due to a string of mysterious and—as far as Kurt could tell—unanswered phone calls that Sam received.

It wasn't the phone calls that made Kurt angry, but Sam's reaction to said phone calls. Whenever the number would call—and Kurt couldn't be sure that it was the _same _number every time though he suspected that it was—he went through the same cycle over and over again. He would completely shut down and either lock himself in the bathroom or drive around in the Impala for hours—anything he could do to get away from Kurt although he would always deny that was the reason. And Kurt just _hated _it because he knew that Sam was hurting—that much was plain to see—but there wasn't anything he could do. Especially since Sam refused to talk about it.

The 4th of July changed that.

The 4th of July was kind of a big deal around the Hummel-Hudson house. Kurt's dad always went all out—huge barbeque, tons of fireworks, the whole shebang. Kurt had never enjoyed the holiday in the past. For one, most of the activities were outdoor activities which might suit some but most certainly did not suit the boy who could scarcely step foot into the sun without burning off a layer of skin. For another, he always ended up stuck with the majority of the planning and cooking for said barbeque because Carole was really hopeless in the kitchen. But Sam had really been looking forward to it.

Kurt first brought up the barbeque the week before in the form of a complaint.

"So apparently my house has been turned into some sort of makeshift firework stand. When I went by the house this afternoon, I couldn't even walk across the living room because it was—no joke—covered in fireworks. They are going _way _overboard this year."

The apartment wasn't as lacking in the furniture department as it had once been—they had added a couch and even a small TV—the two boys still spent the majority of their time curled up in the bed. This was especially true on that day. It was Sunday which meant that neither of them had to go into work, and it was so oppressively hot outside—and inside because while they _did _have air conditioning in the apartment it didn't work quite as well as they would have liked—that they hadn't had the energy to do much of anything.

"Really?" Sam, who was propped up on one elbow leaning over Kurt, asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"It's the third annual Hummel-Hudson 4th of July Barbecue. Ever since my dad married Carole, him and Finn have been trying to compete with our neighbors—the ones on the left side, you know, the ones who always let their dog use the bathroom in our front yard—over who can put on the biggest firework display."

Sam's look had been wistful. "Sounds fun."

Kurt had just laughed and pulled Sam down for a kiss. "Fun? God, no, it'll be awful—it always is—although I suppose this year won't be too bad 'cause you'll be there."

"I will, will I?" Sam had asked then punctuating each word with a kiss—the first on the tip of his nose, the second on the corner of his mouth, the third on his jawline, and the fourth, finally, on his lips.

Kurt had made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat as he deepened the kiss and moved until every inch of Sam's body was covering his own. He loved that Sam was taller than him, loved how defined the muscles in his arms and back were, loved the curve of his spine, the curve of his belly. He loved how attentive Sam was to him. He paid attention to the smallest of details, so he always knew just where to kiss or touch to make Kurt come undone.

What Kurt loved most of all about the physical aspects of their relationship was how connected it made him feel to Sam on more than just a simply physical level. There was so much that Sam kept hidden away inside that sometimes Kurt felt like there was this gulf between them that he would never be able to cross.

But when they made love, there was no gulf. When they made love, Sam let all of his walls down, and even if there was no verbal communication, it was enough for Kurt, because every kiss, every touch, every stroke told him what Sam could not.

Afterward, as their sweat slicked bodies lay tangled together, Sam had, in a rare move, made a confession. "I've never been invited to a family barbecue before. My family...we weren't exactly the Brady's or the Huxtable's. Me and my brother grew up on the road," he paused. "I've never had a real home before."

Feeling almost delirious about the tiny peek into Sam's past, Kurt hadn't been able to hold in his breathy laugh or his smile. "Well, consider yourself officially invited."

Neither of them ended up going to the barbecue though.

The morning of the barbecue started normal enough. Kurt had stayed at his house for a change because there was just so much to do, and he knew exactly what would happen if he stayed over at Sam's, and as nice as that would be, he didn't have time for it. Not if he was to prepare enough food to feed Finn and several of Finn's friends as well as his family and Sam—basically enough food to feed a small army.

Only he hadn't expected to get a frantic phone call from Sam asking him to come over before he'd even left his bed—a frantic phone call that hadn't made much sense. Not that he'd stopped to think about it. No, he'd thrown on the first outfit his hands touched and left the house without so much as leaving a note for his dad.

The first thing he noticed when he got to the apartment was that there were a number of different firearms littering the tiny dining room. The second thing he noticed was that there were several large packages of rock salt not only sitting in the corner of the living room, but that there seemed to be rock salt lining the windows and the door leading out to the tiny balcony. When he was properly inside the door, Sam lined that door in salt as well.

Before he could ask about any of the strange things in the apartment or the frantic phone call, Sam kissed him—kissed him like he had that first day. He kissed him over and over again—hard, desperate, needy kisses that stole his breath away. Without ever parting they somehow managed to undress one another and end up in the bed. There was an edge to their love making then. Like the kisses they had shared before, it seemed almost desperate—as if Sam was trying to imprint himself on every inch of Kurt. When they were finished his entire body ached in the best of ways.

He was still trying to catch his breath when he realized that not only was Sam getting dressed, but he was also, haphazardly, throwing clothes into a knapsack. He got out of bed, then, too.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"I—yes. I have to go away for a few days," he paused and studied Kurt's face for a moment. "I don't have time to explain everything to you now, but I promise you that when I come home, I will tell you everything. I just need for you to do one thing for me."

"Everything?" he echoed.

Sam nodded. "Everything. The truth. About my family, about myself—everything."

Kurt took in a shaky breath. "Okay." He cleared his throat. "What do you need for me to do?"

"I need you to stay here."

At Kurt's confused look, he clarified. "I need you to stay inside the apartment the entire time I'm gone. I can't explain why now, but…I just need you to promise me that you will."

He wanted to question Sam further. To refuse to agree to this ridiculous agreement until he had explained fully, but there was something about the way Sam looked right then—slightly unhinged and more than a little terrified—that made him stop.

"I will," he said finally.

After that, Sam went into great detail about things that made little sense to Kurt. He told Kurt that he needed to make sure that all entrances to the apartment were covered in salt at all times, showed him bottles of water with rosaries floating in the bottom of them before telling him to throw it on anyone who tried to come into the apartment, and finally showed him the special bullets, filled with yet more salt, that he needed to load the guns with. He also handed him a large knife with a strange design on it.

"Don't open the door to anyone. If someone does manage to get in, shoot them. If that doesn't stop them—and it might not—the knife will," he said. Then he pulled out his cell phone and handed it to Kurt. He also slipped the necklace he always wore off of his neck and put it on him.

"I should be back in no more than two days. If I'm gone any longer than that, I want you to call Bobby Singer. His number is listed in my contacts."

"Okay," Kurt said, trying to commit all of the instructions to memory. Then, more than ever, he wanted to force Sam to stop and explain because there were so many things about all of this that bothered him.

Sam straightened up after adding several more things to his knapsack. He pulled Kurt in for one last kiss, pressing their lips softly together. He rested his forehead against Kurt's, his hand tracing first his cheek and then his lips.

"I love you," Kurt said as they parted.

Sam stared at him, stunned. It was the first time either of them had actually said the words. Kurt had wanted to say them for a while, but the timing had never seemed right. Until now, that is.

"I love you, too," he replied, a fond smile on his face.

And then he was gone.

Kurt stood in the same place—in front of the door—for a long time until his legs began to ache. When he did move, he only moved far enough away to sink down onto the couch. He probably would have just sat there all day wondering what the hell had just happened if not for the fact that he needed to call his dad. He had no idea what he was going to say to him, but he knew he would have to call.

Luck was with him, on this at least, because it wasn't his dad that answered but Carol.

"Kurt? We thought you were asleep in your room."

"I was," he said. "I'm with Sam. We left first thing this morning because he had a family emergency. I know that I should have told you first, but there just wasn't any time."

Carole made a sympathetic noise. "Of course there wasn't. Don't worry about a thing. How is he?"

"A mess," he said. That much was the truth at least.

"Give him our love, and you boys be careful."

Guilt curled in his belly as he ended the call. He hated lying to his dad. Sam had better have a good explanation for all of this because, at this point, Kurt was ready to say that he was more than a little crazy. Holy water, bullets made of rock salt, and strange occult looking knives? Yeah, he definitely expected an explanation as soon as Sam got home.

The rest of the day went by without any incident. He jumped every time he heard a loud noise, but it always turned out to be nothing—a car honking its horn, the person next door to them slamming their doors like they were apt to do.

In order to keep his mind off of things, he cleaned every inch of the small apartment, singing along with his iPod as he did. There wasn't much to do—he changed the sheets and made the bed and then dusted the photo frames that lined their small dresser in the bedroom and their new shelf in the living room. They were mostly pictures of the two of them with an odd shot of one or the other by their self. There was one with Sam, Kurt and his dad taken by Finn two weekends ago when his dad had drug the boys off to a baseball game in Cincinnati. Kurt hated baseball but his dad had gotten the tickets from a friend of his, and since Sam had never been to a professional baseball game—which to Finn and his dad had been a travesty of epic proportions—he had acquiesced to the game with little complaints.

He was nearly finished when he came across one he hadn't seen before—it was a close-up of him asleep with his eyelashes curled against his cheek. The quality was poor, but Sam had obviously taken it with his cell phone camera, so that wasn't any surprise.

He took a shower when he was finished cleaning. Most of his clothes were back at home because they had been planning on doing laundry during the barbecue that day, so Kurt ended up wearing one of Sam's many button-down shirts and his own pajama pants. He supposed it was alright to be unkempt this once especially since he wouldn't be leaving the house. Plus the shirt had the added bonus of smelling like Sam.

After the shower he ate, not because he was hungry—because he wasn't—but because he knew he ought to, before curling onto their couch, the knife tucked under the cushion he was laying on and the gun propped up in front of the couch. It didn't take long for him to fall into a fitful sleep.

He woke up sometime later to the sound of someone beating loudly on the door. He approached the door with the gun in one hand and the other pressed against his chest. His heart was beating about a mile a minute.

"Sammy, we know you're in there—open up!"

He looked through the peep hole to find two men—one definitely older and the other probably a couple of years older than Sam—standing there. The younger one bore a striking resemblance to Sam while the older one looked like a trucker.

"You've got about thirty seconds before we knock down the door, Sammy, so I'd open up if I were you."

"Sam, it's us," the older man said. "I'd rather not have this conversation on your front stoop so if you wouldn't mind letting us in.

Before he had time to even think about what to do let alone freak out—like he was on the verge of doing—there was a loud thud followed by the door flying open, the chain lock breaking off and the door hitting the wall opposite of it. He grabbed one of the containers of water that Sam had scattered around the living room and tossed the contents onto the two men.

They spluttered for a minute before wiping the water out of their eyes.

Kurt was about to panic. The men had sidestepped the salt easily enough and seemed unaffected by the water—not that he would have known the difference otherwise—but the fact remained that there was currently two rather wet strangers standing in his living room. Two rather wet strangers who had busted his door open.

"Don't come any closer or I'll shoot," he commanded shrilly, holding the gun with two very shaky hands. He knew the basics of using a gun—his dad had made sure of that—but he had had little practical experience.

The two men exchanged nervous looks before holding their hands up in surrender. "Easy now," the younger one said. "No need to shoot anyone. We're just here looking for my brother—Sam Winchester, you ever heard of him?"

Kurt eyed the man shrewdly. "You're lying. Sam's brother is dead. Who are you really?"

The younger man made to speak again but the older one shot him a look. "I'm Bobby, and this here is Dean. We're both good friends of Sam's."

Bobby… as in Bobby Singer? The person Sam had told him to call in case he wasn't home by tomorrow night?

"Bobby Singer?"

The older man nodded before exchanging looks with the younger man—Dean—once again. "Yeah, that's right."

Kurt lowered the gun but didn't drop it. "If you're looking for Sam, he isn't here. He didn't say where he was going—only that I should call you if he wasn't home by tomorrow night."

While Kurt was talking to Bobby, Dean was looking around the room. He bent over and picked up one of the pictures lining the shelf. His eyes flitted between the picture and Kurt before finally setting it back down. "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?"

"I'm Kurt. Sam's boyfriend."


	4. Chapter 4

The Transiency of Love

By _Koinaka_

Please let me forget  
all those sweet smiles  
all of the passion  
all of the heat, the peace, the pain  
all those blue skies  
where your words were my freedom_  
_ _-Don't, Jewel_

Dean laughed. "No really? You guys hunting together or something?"

Bobby gave him a pointed look and nodded towards a picture of Kurt and Sam kissing. Dean stared at the picture and then back at him, his mouth agape. "No way, Bobby. Sammy's not..." he trailed off, his eyes flitting over to where Kurt was standing, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched.

"Not what? Not a fag?" Kurt asked, his voice cold, his lips curled into a sneer.

No one said anything for several seconds until Bobby cleared his throat. "You said Sam left this morning. He say why?"

Kurt shook his head, turning his attention to the older man. He had no time to waste on a homophobe who for all he knew was a deranged psycho—the fact that he claimed to be Sam's dead brother wasn't exactly the sanest thing around. "No. We had plans to go this barbecue that my parents were hosting today, so I slept there last night. He called me this morning, frantic, asking me to come over."

Dean interrupted him. "You said he was frantic. What was he saying?"

There was a pause while Kurt hesitated. Not only did he not know these men but they had broken into his—well, Sam's—apartment. He shouldn't tell them anything. Only…Sam _had _said that he should call the Bobby guy, so maybe he should tell them.

"He wasn't making any sense," he said at last. "It sounded like maybe he had been crying, and he just kept saying that he was sorry, and that he if he had known, he would have been more careful. Then, he said that I had to come over so that he could make sure that I was safe, so that he could protect me—not that I need it because I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself which is exactly what I told him—but he was insistent that I should come over, so I did. I got out of bed, and I came straight here."

He took a deep breath. "This is where it gets a little crazy. When I get here, there was all of this weird stuff lying around." He pointed to the guns, the bags of rock salt, and the holy water. "He made me promise to not leave the apartment until he got back, and then, once I'd agreed, he started telling me what to do with all of that. How I needed to make sure there was salt in front of the doors—which I must say just worked wonders on keeping the two of you out—how to load the guns, that if the guns didn't stop _them_—and he never said who—that I should use this knife. Then he told me that if he wasn't back in two days that I should call Bobby Singer."

The two men shared a significant look.

Dean looked decidedly unhappy, his mouth pulled into a frown. "And you didn't think to ask him what was going on, why he was leavin' in such a hurry?"

Kurt bristled and shot Dean a dark glare. "Of course I did, but he wouldn't say. He only said that if I did what he asked, he would explain everything when he got home—that he would tell me all of the things he'd been keeping from me.

"Such as?" Bobby asked, his curiosity seemingly getting the better of him.

Kurt shrugged. "Just about his family and his past. Things he had done."

"Huh. Well, that's something. You two must not have been very close, then, if he didn't even tell you about his family," Dean commented.

"Yes, well, I could say the same about you. Where've you been all this time—if you're such good friends? When I met Sam he was a complete mess—he still is—drifting around the country on some extended road trip. No home, no family, nothing. Maybe he hasn't told me much about his family, but from what little he has told me that's probably because there isn't much to tell."

Dean made an agitated noise like an angry cat and reared forward. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder in warning. "You have no idea the things I've done for that kid. No idea."

They stared at one another for some time before Kurt finally sighed, fingering the pendant he was wearing. "I'm sorry. You're right. You'll have to excuse me—it's been a long day."

Dean wasn't looking at him, though, not directly. His eyes were glued on the pendant. "Where did you get that?"

"Hmm?" Kurt asked distractedly. "Oh, this? Sam gave it to me right before he left. He never takes it off usually. Not even during..." he paused, flushing hotly. "Just…never."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "Well, wherever he is, we know he's not alone, so that's something. He got any friends around here?"

"Not really," Kurt admitted. "He's a pretty private person, you know. He spends time with my step-brother, Finn, and my dad, and he's made a few friends at the garage, but any of those people would have had the same plans as we did. Small town and all that," he paused and as his mind caught up to the first thing Dean had said his eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think that he wasn't alone?"

This time it was Bobby who answered. "The Impala's still outside in the parking lot. That's why we were so sure he was here—"

Kurt interrupted him. "Wait—what? But he left. Why wouldn't he have taken the Impala? He loves that car."

"Well, he did. You wouldn't, by any chance, have a copy of his keys, would you?"

"I do—"

"Great," Dean said, cutting him off. "Hand 'em over. Might have left a clue about where he was heading in it."

"No way," Kurt said, shaking his head. That was it—the last straw. "No way am I giving _you_ the keys to his car."

"That's fine," Bobby said, calmly, giving Dean, whose mouth was already forming what Kurt was certain was a rebuttal, a hard look before turning back to Kurt. "How about we all go down to the car and take a look? That way you won't be giving anyone the keys, and we'll still get to see inside."

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip. It sounded like a reasonable compromise, but he would be breaking a promise to Sam if he went outside.

"Look," Dean started when he saw the uncertainty that was written all over Kurt's face. "I know that I've been a total douche to you, and you have every reason not to trust me, but I love Sammy, and there is nothing that I would not do for him—including keeping you safe. He must care about you a lot if he gave you that." He pointed to the pendant that Kurt was still touching.

Finally, Kurt nodded. He grabbed his keys off the counter and toed on his shoes. Together—Dean first followed by Kurt and then by Bobby—walked to where the Impala was parked beside the Navigator in the parking lot. If Kurt was being honest, he would have to say that maybe marching in formation was a little too much because he didn't really believe anything was going to happen.

Dean's face lit up when he saw the Impala. "Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?" he asked, sliding his hand across the hood as they walked by it. "She looks good. Real good. Guess Sammy's been taking care of her."

Kurt thought his reaction to the car was a little odd, but he didn't comment on it. He cleared his throat. "He has," he said. "Well, I have, mostly, only because he knows how much I enjoy it."

Dean let out a chortle. "_You_? Taking care of my baby?"

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "As a matter of fact, yes, and she's not yours. It—the _car_—belongs to Sam. If it weren't for me, who knows where this car would be now? Sam didn't even know how to check the oil or anything. He's lucky he brought it into the garage when he did. It was nearly out of both oil and transmission fluid."

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Once again, Bobby was the one to break it. "Guess we should take a look. See what we can find."

Kurt gave a jerky nod and unlocked the driver's side door. "I'm not sure what you're expecting to find. The inside's immaculate."

"Not the inside we need to see," Dean grunted, bending over and popping the trunk open.

"Nothing there either," Kurt said, following behind him. His eyes widened when he saw Dean pull the bottom of the trunk up, reveling what appeared to be an arsenal.

"Oh my God," he breathed. He had never seen so many guns in his entire life.

Dean rummaged through the trunk, making comments every so often to Bobby while Kurt stared on in shock.

Why did Sam have all of these guns? Was he some sort of arms dealer? A criminal? Was that why he had just appeared in town one day with no rhyme or reason?

He moved closer to the open trunk when something caught his eye. A box with a picture of Sam in it, or that's what he thought at first. One closer inspection, it was an ID of some sort.

It was a Washington State driver's license with a name that definitely wasn't Sam Winchester on it.

And it wasn't the only one there. The entire box was full of different ID's and badges—FBI, police, you name it, and it was there.

"Hey, you okay?" Bobby asked from behind him.

Startled, the box slipped from his hands and fell to the ground, scattering the ID's everywhere.

"Who are you people?" He asked in a shaky voice, but he didn't wait around for an answer. He jogged backed over to the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. He was able to close and lock the door before the two men caught up to him.

He ignored their knocks on the door and headed to the bedroom. A sick feeling swept over him as he looked over all of the pictures of the two of them. Sam—if that was even his real name, and there was a large possibility that it wasn't—hadn't exactly lied to him although was omission of the truth the same as lying? Kurt wasn't sure. He had known that Sam was keeping things from him, had known that there were things that Sam wouldn't tell him, and he had continued the relationship anyway, but never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought that Sam would be keeping something like this from him.

Wondering what else Sam might be keeping from him—under his very nose—Kurt went through each drawer on their dresser. In the last drawer he found a small box. With a very large sense of trepidation, he opened it. It was full of mementos from their time together. The receipt from their first dinner that he had used to write his cell number on, a strip of pictures they had taken on Saturday afternoon at the mall, random post-it notes that Kurt often left around the apartment for him to find, the ticket from the baseball game they'd attended with his father, pictures of Kurt—most of which were just copies from the ones around the apartment but there were two pictures that Sam must have taken at the same time as he'd taken the close up—a series of postcards all sent to Sam at Stanford, and on the very bottom there was a worn picture of a much younger Sam and Dean. His hands trembling, he turned the picture over. The caption was short but said everything Kurt needed to know:

_Sammy—thought you might want this; just in case you forgot what a good-lookin' SOB your big brother is while you're out in Cali. _

So Dean had been telling the truth; he was Sam's brother. After staring at the photo for a minute, Kurt put everything back in the box and put it back where he'd found it. He was about to open the last drawer when Sam's phone began to beep with a message. He didn't recognize the number, but he opened it anyway, hoping that it might be Sam.

It was.

The text was short—only a line that said: _I'll be home before you wake up. Love you._

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was hitting the callback button and waiting for Sam to answer. After all, he _had _to be with the phone as the text had come in not even a full two minutes before.

No one answered.

Kurt looked around the room. In a pique of anger, he swept his hand across their dresser, knocking all of the pictures on the ground, their frames shattering upon impact.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the wait on this! It was a very difficult chapter to write, and I'm not sure that I even like it, but here you go!

The Transiency of Love

By _Koinaka_

Please let me forget  
all those sweet smiles  
all of the passion  
all of the heat, the peace, the pain  
all those blue skies  
where your words were my freedom_  
_ _-Don't, Jewel_

Kurt sank onto the bed when he was finished. He took in one shaky breath and then another. Once the surge of anger was gone, he was left with an empty feeling inside. So, there was the possibility that Sam was a psychopathic nut job who may or may not have lied about his entire identity. Did that change the way that Kurt felt about him?

No.

Absolutely not.

He loved Sam—_loved _him to such an extent that the thought of being apart from him caused his chest to ache and a sick feeling to whirl around in his belly. Even now Kurt could feel his absence resonating through him. But it was more than just that. Even though Sam would be back in a matter of hours, Kurt had this awful sinking suspicion that nothing would be the same as it had been before. Now, more than ever, Kurt felt the enormity of the gulf between them. Without knowing what else to do, he just curled up on the bed for a long while and allowed the tears to fall freely down his face.

When the tears had dried, for the moment, he forced himself to get out of the bed. He cleaned up the glass and put the now glassless picture frames back where they belonged. Then he went to the door where he could still hear the two men muttering back and forth to one another and opened it.

He stared at Dean for a minute. He took in the tanned skin, the dusting of freckles across his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw—all so different from Sam and yet there was something about him the reminded Kurt of Sam.

It was the look in his eyes. Both Sam and Dean had the same haunted look that made them seem much older than they were.

"So," Kurt said. "You're his brother."

"Uh…" The other looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"His _dead _brother."

"'s a little complicated, but yeah."

Kurt moved back so that the men could enter the apartment. "I got a text from him a few minutes ago. Says he'll be home in the morning. You two are welcome to come in."

Dean looked at Bobby and both men shrugged. "Yeah. Okay," Dean said before moving past Kurt into the apartment.

The other man followed, and once they were both inside, Kurt closed and bolted the door. Then he poured salt across the bottom of the door. When he was finished, he turned back around to where Dean and Bobby were standing awkwardly.

There were so many things he wanted to say—so many questions he wanted to ask—but now that he had the men in front of him to ask, all he wanted to do was sleep. He felt drained—both emotionally and physical—and it was all he could do right then to remain upright.

"I'm going to bed," he said, finally. "Feel free to make yourselves at home. There's some food in the fridge if you get hungry, and there are blankets in the closet next to the TV."

There was a part of him that thought this was an exceptionally bad idea because allowing them into the apartment was one thing, but leaving them unattended while he slept was something else altogether. Still Sam obviously trusted these men—Bobby Singer at any rate—so he supposed that ought to be enough.

Luckily, that wouldn't be put to the test because no sooner had he made the offer did both men refuse even though they had entered the apartment happily enough only moments before.

"We already have a room at a motel," Dean said. "Plus I think it's probably best that we not spring me on Sam first thing when he gets home. Not without knowing why he tore outta here like a bat outta hell without taking either the knife or the gun." The last part was said to Bobby in a low tone.

"Suit yourselves," Kurt said with a shrug. He ignored the last cryptic remark because, honestly, at this point, he figured ignorance was probably the best policy. He wasn't sure how much more he could handle.

Bobby nodded to Dean in agreement. "Yeah," he said before turning to Kurt. "Probably best if you just don't mention any of this to him right away. We'll come by tomorrow after breakfast."

With that, the two men left. Kurt redid the locks and the salt before heading to his room, bringing the knife and the gun with him.

Once he was inside the room, he burrowed his way into the middle of their bed and pulled the covers around him so that he was completely encompassed by them. The sheets were clean, but Kurt could still smell Sam on them. Despite his exhaustion, he didn't fall right asleep. His mind was just too full. It was full of possibilities, of scenarios, rational explanations—none of which satisfied him in the least. He wasn't sure when he did fall asleep, but he obviously had at some point because the next thing he knew there was soft light coming in through the window and someone was slipping beneath the covers with him.

"Sam?" he asked. His eyes fluttered open to find his boyfriend's form beside him.

"Shhh, go back to sleep. It's still early," Sam told him, pulling Kurt closer to him and kissing him lightly on the top of his head.

Kurt was nearly back to sleep when he remembered the events of the previous day. His eyes popped back open, and he scrambled to pull himself into a sitting position. Sam blinked blurrily several times, taken aback at Kurt's sudden movements.

All of his questions died on his tongue when he noticed the state Sam was in. There was a slash down one of his cheeks and the other side of his face was bruised and swollen. There was also another large bruise spanning the entirety of the left side of his chest.

"You're hurt!" he exclaimed, his tone almost accusatory. "What happened?"

"Nothing—it's nothing. I'm fine. Really," he added at Kurt's skeptical look.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt slid out of the bed and headed into the bathroom to grab the first aid kid and a warm wash cloth.

"Sit up," he told his boyfriend as he dumped the supplies down onto the bed.

Sam sighed but did as he was told. Kurt moved to where he was standing in between Sam's open legs so that he could inspect the damage. He cocked his head to first one side and then the other before deciding to start on the cut. The edges of the cut were jagged and an angry red.

"This might hurt," he warned and then pressed the wash cloth against the cut as gently as he could.

He used one of the Betadine wipes to clean it before using some of the liquid adhesive bandages to close it up. He blew lightly on the cut to dry the adhesive. Sam had no reaction until Kurt blew on the adhesive. The second that Kurt did though, Sam sucked in a strangled breath and his hands flew out to grab Kurt's hips. Kurt merely quirked an eyebrow and continued doctoring his injuries.

"So," Kurt said lightly as he dabbed a bruise salve over Sam's other cheek. "Want to tell me why you look like you took on a large animal—and _lost? _The truth, this time, if you please. You owe me that at least." His voice may have started out light, but there was an undercurrent of anger there that was not lost on Sam.

"Yeah, you're right. I do," Sam said. He took a deep breath and then began to talk.

When he was finished, they sat in silence until Sam finally spoke again. "Please say something—anything. I know it's a lot to take in—a lot to believe—but it's the truth."

And it was a lot. Too much, really, but that was why Kurt believed him because why else would he tell such an outlandish story unless it was the truth? Surely, if he was going to lie about his past or where he'd been, there were many simpler stories he could have told. Instead he spun a tale that could have been lifted off the pages of a horror novel. Maybe Kurt was crazy for believing it, but God help him, he did believe it. It explained the guns, the ids, and all of the secrecy better than anything else could.

"You hunt monsters."

It wasn't a question, but Sam answered it anyway. "Yeah, well, I used to—before my brother died. I haven't since then."

"And if he were to return somehow, then what? You would leave and start hunting again?" The unspoken question of _You would leave _me _and start hunting again_ hung heavy between them.

Sam hesitated, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face. Finally, he shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Does it matter? It's not like he's coming back—not like he _can _come back. Not from that." He let out a bitter laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

"But if he did?" Kurt insisted. "If he came back."

He exhaled harshly and pushed himself off the bed in order to pace the length of the room. "What do you want me to say, Kurt? If my brother was alive and not rotting in hell, would I start hunting again? Yeah. Probably so. But even if I didn't—even if I never hunted again—I wouldn't stay here. Not if he was alive."

"Oh," was all Kurt could manage to say because he felt a little like all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

"You're the one leaving in a few weeks, Kurt," Sam pointed out. "We both knew this was coming. What did you expect me to do after you left? Sit around here and wait for you to come back?"

"Of course not," Kurt said in a clipped tone. He sighed. "I was hoping that you would come with me. That you would stay with me in New York."

Sam's expression softened. "Kurt…"

A knock at the door brought him up short. His brow furrowed. "Who could be here this early?"

"Sam, wait—" Kurt started to say, but Sam was already walking out of the room and to the door.

Not knowing what else to do, Kurt lingered in the doorway of the bedroom and watched as first Bobby and then, after a few minutes of hushed conversation—and several not so hushed interjections by Sam—Dean entered the apartment. When Dean pulled Sam in for a hug, Kurt backed away from the doorway and softly closed the door to give the three men some modicum of privacy.

Mechanically, Kurt dressed and began gathering his things—from both the dresser and the closet. Sam was right. He had known this was coming, but he hadn't thought it would come this soon. He thought he had more time—that they had more time.

He froze when the door opened, and Sam came into the room. Sam didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Everything there was to say was written on his face—this was it, he was leaving.

Kurt's breath hitched in his throat as Sam reached out and wiped a tear off of his cheek with his thumb before pulling Kurt to him and kissing him. Neither of them said a word as Kurt allowed Sam to maneuver him onto the bed, to kiss him and touch him over and over again as if he was trying to memorize the contours of his body, the sound of his sighs, and how perfectly they fit together. He was saying goodbye with every stroke, every touch of fingers or tongue to skin, and with each touch Kurt felt his heart break a little more.

By the time it was over, he was only holding on by the smallest of threads, biting his lips harshly to keep the sobs at bay. So when Sam opened his mouth to speak, Kurt placed a finger over his lips. He wasn't sure he could handle any platitudes or empty promises.

"Don't," his said, his voice cracking. "I just—I _can't_."

Sam just nodded, his own eyes red and lined with tears.

Somehow Kurt managed to keep himself together while Sam packed his things, and it was only when the taillights of the Impala disappeared around the corner that he fell to pieces.


	6. ANbut nothing bad!

I hate doing author notes like this, but I wanted to clear something up.

This is not the end.

Some people have messaged me wanting to know, so I thought I would clear that up straight away. My plan is to go through all aired seasons. This could change, but for now, that's what I'm doing.

Also, I put a poll up, so if you could check that out and vote, I would really appreciate it!

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

_Koinaka_


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